


Lost Without Being Found

by PenelopeAbigail



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeAbigail/pseuds/PenelopeAbigail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin and Percival go on an adventure, well, they hadn't exactly meant to. It just happened. Accidentally</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Council Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after my other story Here Until You Die, but is not a sequel. It is NOT necessary to read that one first.  
> The only things you need to know is that Arthur survived Camlann, and Percival knows Merlin's secret.

He was running as fast as he could, given the circumstances, weaving in-between trees and trying to jump over protruding roots. His fastest wasn’t being achieved, and there was a pretty good reason for that, a reason that just seemed to get heavier the longer he carried it. 

Merlin was holding on as best as he could without choking Percival or squeezing too much around his upper chest. He was being carried piggy-back, a style of carrying which he really came to hating the more he had to endure it. The chain linking his wrists wasn’t very long, so he had to be careful not to choke the larger man, which was a very difficult feat. You see, they were running (Percival was running), and jumping over roots (Percival was jumping over roots), and when one does that, normally one does not do it fluidly. 

Merlin was bobbing up and down on Percival’s back, sliding left or right whenever he made a sharp turn. It was hard work to squeeze with his knees enough to cease his bobbing when his lower leg was broken, but Percival’s arms were gently holding him in place. The warlock had to constantly hold his arms up and out in a semi-uncomfortable angle so his transportation could properly breathe, or as properly as one could when he was carrying another person on his back.

But, alas, Merlin failed; his knees slipped, and his arms yanked, and Percival choked, lurching them to a stop as Merlin squeaked out, “Sorry!”

The knight just grunted, shifted Merlin around on his back so he could more easily hold the smaller man’s legs easier. Merlin hid his face in Percival’s shoulder, trying to cover up the whimper as his broken leg was jostled. Percival apologized quietly, but they didn’t have the time to stop and rest; they just got away and neither knew if they were being followed or not.

Percival just kept running as fast as he could, dodging and weaving. A large stump of a broken branch blocked his way, but it wasn’t too obtrusive, so he jumped suddenly and hard, slamming Merlin’s skull into his. He staggered a bit, shaking his head and righting himself, before promptly falling down, tripping over a tree root that he hadn’t seen. He landed on his side, but Merlin collided with the tree next to them and all his movement ceased. 

Percival groaned, slipping out from between his friend’s restrained arms, and sat up. 

Merlin wasn’t moving, and there was blood on the tree next to his head. The knight knew that wasn’t good, not in the slightest, but he picked Merlin up, slipped the younger man’s bound arms around his head, hoisting the smaller body onto his back, and kept running. After all, Percival was, amongst all the knights (including the king himself), the one with the most stamina. Sure, he’ll tire of carrying Merlin eventually, but not yet, not until they are safely away from the enemy.

—

The sun had set, the moon had come out, and Percival would say it was nearing midnight. He had slowed to a brisk walk some time ago, but hadn’t stopped. Merlin’s head wound was bleeding quite a bit—he could feel it running onto his neck. He knew he needed to wrap it to slow the bleeding, so he stopped, knelt down, and slipped Merlin’s arms off, setting the unconscious man gently against a tree. 

There was no light around, not in the middle of the forest somewhere outside Camelot, but the moon and stars were shining brightly, illuminating objects around him. Even so, that hadn’t given him enough light to really see. He’d just have to gently feel around Merlin’s head for the wound, and bandage it as best as he could. There was no other option.

But suddenly, a tree rustled. Percival stiffened; there was no breeze at all, so that couldn’t have been the wind. 

A twig snapped, and there was more rustling. Percival froze, listening intently. 

There were voices, faint, but definitely people talking, which meant there was more than one. What in the world was a group of people doing out in the woods around this time of night? And without a light! Percival peered into the darkness, watched with rapt attention for torches, but saw none, which worried him further.

They were probably trying to be inconspicuous, trying not to be seen, probably spying or sneaking, and Percival did not want to have a run-in with strangers right now. He wasn’t in the nicest mood.

It was dark. He was tired, sleepy and exhausted. His back was aching from carrying Merlin for the past several hours. He had a headache from where Merlin’s head had collided with his. He was hungry, thirsty, and his ribs hurt. Also, he had no idea where in the world he was. So, he was not in the mood to entertain some suspiciously acting strangers. He needed to find the nearest place for shelter and get Merlin some help.

As quietly as he could, he hoisted the boy upon his back once again, and started off. 

It wasn’t long before the trees thinned and some houses were visible in the distance. There was a path, just a few strides away, and Percival made for it, following it into the village. It looked vaguely familiar, maybe he had been there before, but it was dark, the moon high in the sky, so his sight was a bit impaired. 

He didn’t want to wake any sleeping villagers, but Merlin needed immediate help. He cried out as he ran through, hoping to wake a physician, skilled or not. 

“Help! Help us! Please, someone help us!”

It worked; through the windows and curtains, candles flickered to life, and more than one door opened. He stopped, crouching down and readjusting Merlin to where the man was being carried gently in his arms, hoping to gather more sympathy so someone would be more inclined to help.

Several men were approaching, some carrying pitchforks, some knives, some torches, but Percival wasn’t threatened. He wouldn’t do anything that would cause those potential negative outcomes. He thought he recognized some of the approaching faces, perhaps he’d been through there before, with Arthur? Surely, this wasn’t the town he had left when he and the other knights met the girl Lamia.

There were people approaching from other directions as well, and not just men, some women, too, but no children. Understandable. 

He spoke again, not as loud, hoping one of the women would help.

“Please help us! My friend is injured.”

A voice from behind him spoke disbelievingly, “Percival?”

That sounded like—

He turned, and sure enough, it was! His face broke out in a large grin, as did the woman standing in front of him.

“Anita!”

He couldn’t believe it. Had he really wondered all the way to Ealdor? It’s possible. He and Merlin had been on their way when they had been attacked; their enemy’s camp mustn’t have been far from where they had departed from.

Speaking of Merlin…

“Anita, please, where’s Hunith?”

He had only lived in Ealdor for a couple months, but knew (from Lancelot especially) that Hunith was Merlin’s mother and by far the best replacement for a physician. She had learned all she knew from Gaius, her uncle, and Lancelot had constantly been wounded while sparring with Percival, only for Hunith to be the one to patch him up. Now that he thought about it, Merlin, with all his magical escapades as a child, probably had to have been tended to quite frequently.

“She’s—“

“I am here.”

The woman pushed herself politely through the small gathering and, upon seeing her son unconscious, covered in blood, limp in the knight’s arms, covered her gasp with a hand on her mouth. She only took a moment to take in the situation, but she knew Merlin needed her. 

She quickly ushered them back to her home, telling everyone that, “My boy needs me, so you all can go back to sleep. Sorry for the interruption,” and draped a clean, folded sheet over the empty table on which, not a moment later, Percival gingerly lowered Merlin onto. Hunith ran to the back of her home, needing things to heal with, bandages, a bucket for water, and some herbs which she tightly grasped in each hand. 

Percival didn’t need awkward introductions, like he feared would have been the case if this were any other village. He had lived here with Lancelot several years ago before King Uther died and had already been well acquainted with the healer working in front of him. He wasn’t from here, no; he had lived with his family in a quaint little village like Ealdor located a two-day’s journey away, until Cenred attacked, plundered, and pillaged, slaughtering most of the villagers, his friends, and his family. He alone had escaped the massacre and had fled. Lancelot had stumbled upon him in the woods and stayed with Percival in Ealdor. Since Lancelot had been well acquainted with Merlin, he had also been somewhat acquainted with Merlin’s mum, and she had given them both shelter until they had built themselves their own homes. 

She set the things on an empty spot on the table by Merlin’s head, handed the pot to the knight, and said, “I’ll need some water, please.” 

“Of course,” he replied before sweeping from the house and around the corner. When he had placed the filled bucket on a stool by Hunith, he noticed all the candles around the room: they each had the seal of Camelot on them. The pieces weren’t hard to put together, and Percival smiled down at his lap. _Of course_ Merlin would send his mother things from his earnings. Money wasn’t much use in a small village like Ealdor, but everyday, perishable household items were. 

Hunith broke him out of his thoughts, “What are these on his wrists?”

The knight stood and moved toward the table, whispering, since voices can easily be heard doors down in the dead of night.

“I believe they stop his magic. Whenever he tried, they just glowed, and nothing happened.”

She looked sad, and gently rubbed his wrist above the shackles with her thumb. “Oh my boy…”

But, to Percival, she asked, “What happened?”

—

He had been standing there for quite a while, the young couple in their midst fidgeting constantly. The king was taking his nice sweet time being late. Probably his servant’s fault, honestly. Percival was thinking about just screwing propriety and order and going to find the king himself—never before had Arthur taken this long, been _this_ late. Had he _completely_ forgotten? —But, no, Percival would never do that. He had too much honor, and that went completely against his personality. 

He’d let Gwaine do it.

The said knight threw his hands in the air and marched right out, yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll get him!”

Percival smiled. It was like he read his mind.

Then, all heads turned to the doorway as voices progressively got louder and closer.

“—waiting _forever_! When will—“

The doors opened again, this time to announce the presence of the king himself (and his personal servant following right behind). As he strode toward the center, where the young couple waited, he addressed the whole court and audience, “Please, forgive my tardiness. Not even a king is perfect.”

Percival had to hand it to Arthur. Every single person in the room had been overly annoyed with him, yet, humbling himself with the power of but six words instantly drove away the foul mood that had been brewing. Furthermore, not taking his rightful seat on his throne beside his queen humbled him even more and created a personal bond between him and his subjects, who had requested his ear. Arthur didn’t fully believe himself worthy of the crown, but Percival and all the citizens of his kingdom saw everyday the worthiness that he couldn’t see in himself. Which, perhaps, made him even more worthy.

“What can I do for you?” 

The couple had arrived yesterday evening and pleaded to speak with the king on a matter most urgent, but Arthur had already retired for his evening, choosing to complete his reading of the law, recent reports, and outlying village requests, and complete his paperwork in his chambers before sleeping. So, the head knight on duty had reserved some time for a council early the next morning, earlier than the king preferred, but having been an urgent matter, the knight, a most kind-hearted gentleman, had placed the wellbeing of the citizens of Camelot and their concerns above an extra hour of sleep for the king, understanding that the people needed to be shown that the king really does care about them and wants only what’s best for them. And forget the king’s precious sleep—he needed to get up earlier, anyway!

Percival had done it. 

The young woman bowed, and the young man beside her answered with an incline of his head, “My lord, I am Edward and this is my wife, Rosmerda. We are not from Camelot, our village lies in Cenred’s territory, in Escetir.” He paused.

The king answered, “I’ll take that into consideration, but please continue.”

The couple exchanged smiles, as if saying _I knew this man was a good person_ , and Edward continued, “It began two weeks ago yesterday. A widower’s young son never came in for his evening meal. That particular boy, being of rowdy repute, wasn’t noticed to have been missing right away. You see, sire, he sometimes journeyed too far into the trees hunting with his pup and camped for the night, returning home the succeeding morning, dragging a buck behind. But he hasn’t returned. He’s been gone for two weeks. He may be rowdy and careless at times, but he nevertheless loved his father and helped provide for our widows. He would never stay away for so long.”

“His absence has crippled your village in away, I see. You need help searching?” Arthur nodded in understanding.

The man stole a quick glance at his wife before hesitantly continuing, “Yes, Sire. Well, not quite. There’s more.”

Arthur crossed his arms, still standing before them, and nodded for them to continue.

“Five days later, our youngest, our daughter, went to call her brother in for evening stew. He returned, hungry after his hard work on the corn fields, but his sister did not. We were—still are—worried severely, but then, the next day, ten days ago, he never returned either. 

“Sire, our village isn’t wealthy, but neither are we poor. We rely on our young men to hunt deer and protect against the wolves, while our daughters gather the cotton and sew beautiful clothes. We had men to spare for a search group, three girls and two boys, all of the age of sixteen. They departed nine days ago, and none returned. Seven days ago, the widower whose son disappeared first returned from pleading with King Lot, but he refused to do anything. Our village is too far away for anything to affect him, therefore he cares nothing for us at all. Our only option was to seek and plead with you, since we are near the border of Camelot’s kingdom.”

Arthur stood still, thinking, and Gwen rose to stand by him. She asked, “Has there been any ransom? Anything someone would want to take these children for?”

The young lady spoke up, “No, M’lady. No notes, no specific use for them besides basic labor. We are afraid that—hoped against the idea, but…”

“Yes? What is it?”

“…slavers, my lady.”

Gwen understood now, gathered the young mother in a hug as the tears in her eyes became noticeable. 

Arthur addressed the man, “Have there been bandits in your woods? Any enemies at all that would desire to take them as well?”

“No, sire. The growing boys hunt thrice weekly and have reported nothing unusual.”

“I see.”

The throne room lapsed into silence once again. Arthur considered the choices for several long moments, then announced his ruling.

“I will send several of my good knights with you. Amongst them will be an excellent tracker. I’ll decide more when the council has come to an end, however I have other matters I must speak to my advisors about, as well.” He reached out and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming to me about this. I will do what I can.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

Gwen released the woman to her husband, and the two exited, leaving the throne room in silence for only a split second before Gwaine spoke, “Should we make our way toward to round table, or would you like us to all remain standing up?”

“The round table, of course. I haven’t been awake long enough to stand for hours.”

Once everyone was properly seated at their specified positions (first, Gwaine was one off; then he was in Percival’s seat; then they all realized a chair was missing, because old Sir Cadagan forgot he retired last week—Percival escorted the crippled ex-advisor back to his quarters, using his arm to brace the elderly man and to assist his walking, before another guard took over, so the knight could return to the meeting, only to find Arthur arguing to Merlin about hot goblets and cold water and _how in the world is there ice in water that just stopped boiling—_ ), the queen stood and addressed them all, silencing the bickering between her husband and his servant.

“This council has been assembled to discuss _several_ matters, which may take a fair length of time, after which I have a meeting with lady Margaret. I may have need to leave before we have adjourned.”

Arthur spoke next, “My main concern for this morning is the aftermath of Camlann. We lost a great many loyal knights and friends that day. Finally, we have completed our finding and burying them all. None are missing. I have drawn up a—um…” He searched his pockets briefly before turning around and speaking the Merlin, the boy quickly leaving to retrieve something. Arthur sat back down and continued, “I have drawn up a list of every man that fell, their position, and the compensation their families will receive. I need one of you to oversee the dispensation. Any volunteers?”

Sir Robin stood up. “I knew many of those good warriors. Sire, I volunteer.”

“Thank you, Sir Robin. My servant will return shortly, I had left the reports in my chambers.”

“Of course, your highness.” Sir Robin sat back down.

“About Morgana’s slain men. While they served our adversaries, they were still brave soldiers, doing what their duty called for. I would like to see that they are paid proper tribute. Not necessarily individual graves, as they were still our enemies, but we can’t just leave their bodies for the buzzards. What should we do?”

Sir Bedivere spoke, “Morgana’s done nothing with them?”

Sir William answered, “Nothing. I have recently returned from a patrol in that area. I stopped to look, and they are all still there.”

Shy Sir Daniel raised his hand. Gwen smiled, she had always found the young knight somewhat adorable—that someone so big, second largest, beaten only by Percival, could be so shy and awkward, especially around women. She spoke up for him, drawing all eyes to his nervous demeanor, “Yes, Sir Daniel?”

“Thank you, m’lady. Your highness, would it be disrespectful if—no, could we—I mean to say, that we could—If Morgana’s men didn’t take care of it themselves—we should—well, no, it was stupid—never mind—“

“No, no, Daniel. What is it?” Arthur prodded.

“Sire… what if we burnt them, and placed a mark… It isn’t as honorable as a knight’s pyre, a mass burning, but the marker would be like a monument, a reminder, to honor all men that gave their lives, enemy and friendly.”

The room fell into silence, only broken once Merlin returned, striding swiftly over to Arthur’s side and handing him the rolled up parchment. They tried to whisper, but the room was quiet, their voices easily overheard.

“That was _fast._ ”

“You said _quickly_ —I didn’t know how urgent it was.”

“It was almost _suspicious, Mer_ lin.”

Gwen spoke over them, “That is an _excellent_ suggestion, Sir Daniel. Arthur, “ she nudged him, and he turned around, Merlin stepping back to his position as a servant, “What do you think about it?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Sir Daniel, splendid idea. I would have nothing else. Would you like to follow up on it and personally see to the task, or should I assign it to someone else?”

“I am fully qualified to go personally, and I would see it done honorably. Thank you, sire.”

Arthur nodded, “If you would—draw me up a potential report of what you plan to do and how long you plan to go, so it may be filed accordingly.”

“Of course, sire.”

“Another issue has risen from Morgana’s attack and our counter-attack. Many knights fell that day, as we’ve said, but now our army, still recuperating, is down half of what it was before. We need more knights, especially right after such vicious battle. We are still at war, after all. Morgana, their leader, may have fallen, but they would still have—“

“Sire, if I may?” Percival interrupted.

“Of course. Speak your mind.”

“How do we know they would still have war?”

“We don’t. It isn’t official. But it can be assumed. Many of her men died, but many fled. It can be assumed that they regrouped somewhere. Reports from villages west of Camelot’s borders tell of armed men, more skilled than petty bandits, have attacked, and in some places plundered the villages, taking supplies and food. These reports were gathered four days after the Battle of Camlann. Leaning toward the safer side, it would be best to assume these skilled warriors were Morgana’s.”

Percival continued the thought, after Arthur left off, “Even if they don’t mean war, we should still assume they do, to ensure we are not surprised by anything.”

“Which is why we need more men, to help guard our lands. If they plundered other villages, they may plunder ours. I am going to send men in small groups to visit villages around Camelot and outside her to recruit more knights. I haven’t done this before, so some of these villages may not be aware that I have repealed the nobles-only rule in the knight’s code. I have drawn up a document—“ He turned toward Merlin. Merlin just looked back, confused. 

The king dropped his voice and whispered, “You were supposed to get _all_ the papers.” 

Merlin cocked his head, “You said only the one.”

“Well, now I’m telling you to get them all.” Merlin slowly left the room, taking his sweet time (maybe that was why Arthur was late that morning). Arthur called after him, “And hurry up, will you!”

He addressed the court once again (Gwaine was smirking), “I have drawn up a document that will prove that I do allow even the lowliest commoner to become a knight, granted he is no criminal—I do not want any more betrayals. Who would like to be in charge of this task?”

Sir Sagramor stood up, “I volunteer, your highness.”

“Thank you, Sir Sagramor.”

However, he remained standing and asked, “What all would these tasks entail?”

“I would like you to organize many groups of knights to send in all directions, each visiting villages. The number of knights is up to you, as is how long they shall be away for this task. For those you choose to send outside the borders, make sure the task is kept relatively secret, so we don’t anger any of our allies. Keep the parties small, two men would be just right. However, I request that not many are sent beyond. Also, as I’ve only written my pledge last night, I have not copied it. You’ll need to do so, but I will need to seal it before you send the knights away. I believe that would be all. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Understood, sire.”

“Oh, and Sir Gwaine, when the recruits arrive, I task it to you to train them. You may choose for yourself five subordinates to help you. I would recommend you prepare yourself as soon as you can, but you don’t have any recruits yet, so do so at your leisure.”

Gwaine nodded happily. Percival knew he loved training and teaching new people. Arthur assigned that task to the perfect person.

“Are there any other issues that we need to address?”

Gaius replied, “Sire, I can’t help but notice how I am the only learned physician in the city. With a war amongst us and with many injured knights already, as well as the fact that I am getting on in my years, I would like to take on some apprentices.”

“I thought Merlin was your apprentice.”

“He was, sire, for a time. But he can already match my talents in every way and then some, save for time-related experience. I can no longer teach him.”

“Very well, Gaius. What would you like me to do?”

“Send word that a new position is requested. The age, experience, and gender matters not.”

“How will we know we have found the right people? Do you have a test in mind?”

Gaius thought for a moment, but then, “I don’t have a test I could write for you, but I cannot go myself, there are too many wounded knights. I’m afraid I don’t know, sire.”

“You say you cannot go personally, does that mean you could judge if you did, or would you not know what to do?”

“If I was able, sire, I would be able to judge myself, but alas, I cannot, as I have said.”

“I know, Gaius, but I can send Merlin. Would he be able to determine?”

“I believe so.”

“Very well! I will send him with one of the recruiting parties.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

No one stood up; no one raised their hands; no one said anything.

“All right, then. Dismissed.”

All the knights stood, before the king did so himself, then scooting the queen’s throne away from the table, he offered his hand, and she rose. The party scattered, except for Percival, who approached Arthur, with a request on his lips.

“Arthur, since you have not given me a specific task, would I be allowed to travel west, preferably outside the border? I have not visited my friends in Escetir for some time.”

“Of course, Percival. But I can’t have you slacking off, so take charge of the recruiting party that is being sent out that way.”

Percival smiled, “Yes, sire.”

He turned to leave, but Arthur asked one thing of him, “Oh, and Percy, if you happened to see Sir Galahad, send him my way. I think he would be the perfect tracker for the couple that we met with this morning.”

Percival nodded, but a thought struck him. He wanted to go west to visit, and Galahad, if Arthur does send him as tracker, would also be going west. If he was correct, Ealdor, the village he wished to visit, was less than half a day’s journey from Engard, the village Rosmerda and Edward came from. He could take Galahad and the two of them could journey together. 

He turned back to Arthur, “Sire, I could take Galahad, if that is whom you wish to send out, and he and I could journey together. We could stop at Ealdor on our return journey.”

Merlin decided to show up while Percival was talking, out of the loop after having missed half the council retrieving the papers he had piled in his arms (Arthur _had_ said all of them). “Ealdor? We’re going to Ealdor?” A look of distress washed over his features, and he dropped some of the scrolls. “Was Ealdor attacked?”

Arthur saw the distress as soon as it appeared and quickly calmed his servant, “No, Merlin, Percival just wanted to visit.”

“Oh, good. Can I go, too? I haven’t been by in ages!”

Another scroll fell from the pile to roll next to Percival’s boot. Arthur watching it, but spoke, “Nope, I’ve got a _special_ task for you. You’re going recruiting for Gaius.”

“What? What does Gaius want?”

Percival broke in, “He can recruit with us, sire. After all, he knows the way to Ealdor better than I.”

“Hmm,” another scroll met Percival’s boot. “I suppose that would work.”

Percival smiled brightly, “I haven’t been on an adventure with you, Merlin. This will be fun!” He grasped the servant’s shoulder, but Merlin was just confused. 

“What’s going on?” Merlin turned toward Arthur, and three scrolls joined their brethren on the floor.

Arthur just asked, “Why in the world are you carrying all that parchment?”

Merlin just stared, incredulously, “You told me to get ALL the papers.”

“I only needed the one.”

 


	2. Engerd

Sir Sagramor busied himself with the task set upon him, working to his upmost abilities and exhausting himself to the point of sickness and being commanded by the queen to see Gaius. The first thing he had done after the council meeting was to grab two servants and, between the three of them, copy the king’s pledge fifteen times. He then had literally snatched Merlin from the hallway, who dumped the king’s lunch in protest to the (in Merlin’s words, “Barbaric latching and snatching”) treatment (and, just for your information, it was most definitely _not_ his fault), and told him to deliver the copies to the king to get his royal seal. 

After that, he had gathered a total of thirty men, paired them up so that an experienced knight accompanied some of little or no experience as a way of further training, and if the time came where they recruited a lad, the boy wouldn’t feel completely inferior to the knights as one generally would if he were accompanied by two vastly superior soldiers. There was only one exception to his pattern—Percival, a knight of the round table and the only knight of such high standing involved in the recruiting, was to accompany Galahad, King Arthur’s most skilled tracker, who, although not a member of the select round table knights due to his frequent absence (tracking and hunting and training other knights to track and hunt), as was his skill, was still, vastly superior in skill and expertise of being a knight to any of the other accompanied knights. 

After pairing them up, Sagramor spent three hours alone in his chambers making individual written orders for each pair of recruiters and then a copy of each written order for the king’s records (documenting was his personal skill; at the king’s round table councils, he had been given the responsibility to document all the happening for future records). When Merlin had delivered the signed and sealed pledges, the knight gave the servant the reports he had _just_ finished writing for the king to look over and approve and politely told the boy to go quickly, since he wanted the troops to depart the next morning, and if that were to happen, they would need some time to prepare _and_ get some sleep.

When Merlin found him again, he was handing the orders out, and re-explaining their overall goals. Ten troops of three knights to be sent on a week-long journey to selected villages inside Camelot, while five troops of two knights were given two weeks to recruit at selected villages outside Camelot, once again with one exception—Merlin was to tag along with Percival and Galahad, and each man had his own king-appointed duty to fulfill and no parameters encasing their time allotment. They were all to leave the following morning.

Sir Sagramor was quite pleased with his hard work, as was the Queen upon finding out that that was the reason for his fainting spell. Gaius reassured them both that there was absolutely no shame in passing out from the stress and hard work. On the contrary, it was an indication of a job well done.

—

It had taken two full days to reach Engard, even though they left shortly after dawn (since only one person in the group was relying on Merlin to wake up bright and early; as it was, the boy had not beenvery late, despite oversleeping, and that was due to the fact that he had to prepare the king to be without a personal servant for several weeks which had him staying up quite late into the night). The sun had already been engulfed by the horizon, but they were behind on time (which was’t really anybody’s fault, but one could blame the clumsy servant boy if one wanted to; however, it really wasn’t his fault his horse was startled by a serpent and fled. He found her, after a while, but by then, they had been set back several hours) and couldn’t afford to stop. Percival, the highest ranking knight of the group and therefore in charge, pushed them further, receiving no complaint, though he expected some.

They had spent the majority of the journey in silence; Galahad wasn’t one for friendly banter, not knowing the other two in the group as well as they knew each other, and so hadn’t really conversed. Percival had never been a man of many words, and, he noted, without Arthur to bicker with, neither was Merlin. Thankfully, though, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Each man was comfortable in his saddle, and if anything came to mind, it was voiced easily, although it passed unrequited.

Merlin had easily led them to Escetir, but from there, he was lost. No one knew the exact route to Engard, but panic was far from their minds. Galahad had drawn out a map, and they crossed the bridge on the left. The servant commented that they “would have already arrived at Ealdor” and that Engard shouldn’t be but just ahead. But still they came upon nothing and no one, save for lone abandoned houses (and Merlin’s funny feeling crawled up his neck when they neared someone’s functioning farm, so Percival steered them far around it, going south, praying to God above that he hadn’t just led them the wrong direction and gotten them lost), and they had only stopped at one because it had a well and they needed to fill their pouches and water their horses, yet they hadn’t been stopped for five minutes before each man was creeped out and eager to leave.

Which brought them to steadily trotting east, hoping Engard would appear beyond the trees at any moment. The sun had set, but it wasn’t dark yet, so the faint trail Percival came across was still visible—barely, but there. The husband and wife they had council with had said that Engard was a fairly populous village, so there was no chance they had accidentally gone around it, or that this trail led elsewhere. No, it would definitely take them there. 

Percival sighed in relief, “A path,” turned to his companions and announced, “We’ll be there before dark.”

Galahad spurred his horse faster (he had been lagging behind), past Merlin and Percival, and bent low on his steed, trying to find tracks of any sort. Merlin spoke, “If there are any markings, they can’t be relied upon, too many people could have—“

They saw it; the village was right in front of them, and they had stopped at the tree line. Engard looked much the same as Ealdor, but the huts were less spaced out and closer together. The swine, cattle, goats, and turkeys all shared the same large, fenced, grazing field; there were adolescents just finishing their work, sluggishly tottering to their homes; a few young children took turns swinging on the only seat left, hanging from a large tree limb just to the right, the other swing bunched together on the ground, having broken. Percival smiled when he saw the children. He had never had a swing to play on when he was young—and he decided then and there that he would fix the broken one for them.

Galahad was the first to break and gallop ahead, and Percival and Merlin weren’t far behind. They weren’t riding swiftly, but slowly, so as to avoid startling the people. There weren’t any cobblestones, so the clip-clop of the hooves was unable to warn people of what was coming. They just had to get out of the way.

Suddenly, Merlin stopped and hopped off his mare, saying, “In Ealdor, we never rode through. The horses could hurt someone or break something.”

Galahad followed suit, commenting, “Ah, I see. Then let us be respectful and polite.”

They hadn’t been dismounted for long before three men approached them.

“Greetings, strangers. What brings you all to Engard?” The man who spoke gave off an air of authority; he was probably the man in charge, although he didn’t look much different from his companions, dressed no better than they, and actually had a prominent scar on his lower cheek. Each of the village men seemed happy or pleased to have visitors, not at all trying to shoo the strangers away. Perhaps they were hoping Galahad, Percival, and Merlin were men the king of Camelot sent as help?

Galahad answered their question, respectful with his tone of voice, and a brightness in his eyes that proved his joy to be of some help.

“Greetings returned. King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot has sent us to help you.”

Percival was right in his thinking: the men were overjoyed to know Arthur sent help. 

The man on the leader’s right spoke, “Excellent! We are most pleased that you have come and honored to be able to work alongside knights of Camelot.”

He, too, spoke with and edge of power; maybe they shared the leadership amongst themselves. That would provide the village with better council, having three, versus having only one.

Galahad continued, “We are pleased to be of use. It is not every day that citizens of another realm seek our aid. We must have this honor.”

The man with the scar addressed them as a group, instead of Galahad only, “The dark is growing upon us, come. We have no tavern nor inn, but that does not mean you must camp outside. We pride ourselves on our hospitality toward everyone. There are many people who will let you rest in their homes.”

He turned and began leading them down the street, only stopping when Merlin asked, “Where should we leave our horses?”

The third man, who had not spoken yet, took care of that issue, “No worries. I’ll take care of them. I’ll bring your packs up for you in just a few moments.”

“Thank you,” Percival and Merlin simultaneously uttered their gratitude. These people seemed extremely kind, and Percival wanted to return that kindness, if there be no other way, than to be polite and kind back. 

The scarred man’s voice interrupted Percival’s thoughts, “We shall commune in my home, come. My wife is currently preparing supper, and it is not yet too late to request more.”

They followed him only a short while, dodging between houses (the village wasn’t organized in any way; huts were standing here and there; some had gardens in front, some had pens for chickens; some were surrounded by grass which the cattle nibbled at, some were right next to another, with an alleyway between that could just barely squeeze a man through), circling around the large pond, which seemed to be at the very center of the settlement, and navigating their way straight through a cornfield (the man said that they hadn’t meant to grow it so obtrusively, but the owners had taken a trip to visit family, and a healthy dosage of rain washed the unrooted seeds downhill, and it grew).

Beyond the cornfield, four small square homes stood, side-by-side, ivy crawling up the walls on each. Beyond the houses, there was, alas, more corn. It seemed that these houses were built at the top of a small hill, very little incline, yet the rain had washed the corn seeds down in all directions. 

“We hate being so walled off from the rest of the people, but there’s not much we can do about it until harvest. We tried cutting some stalks down, but more just rose up in its place overnight.”

Overnight? What?

“How is that possible?” Percival asked, for surely, this man isn’t using magic, was he? 

No, of course not. Wy would he seek help if had magic at his disposal?

They had been steadily approaching the second house on the right, but their guide swiftly turned around, a strange expression that Percival couldn’t place flittered across his features.

He began speaking somewhat slowly, “We are not a part of Camelot, and while I thank you much for coming, we are still not subject to Camelot’s laws, even if you are upholders of that very law.” He sighed, resigned. Nobody was going to punish him for whatever it was he wanted to say, nobody had the place to, for, as he had said, this village is not subject to Arthur’s laws, and Percival told him so. He was relieved, and continued his story.

“We were having difficulties growing crops—there had been a draught at the beginning of the season. We were starving and desperate and resorted to magic. None of us knew any, so we sought someone out, sent our most skilled hunter and tracker to find a sorcerer. He brought back the Lady Morgana. In return for blessing our crops and livestock, she demanded allegiance. Bard, the huntsman who found her, pledged himself to her to fight in her army, but that hadn’t been enough. She wanted more soldiers. She had already blessed us, so we couldn’t deny her what she wanted.”

He paused, and Merlin fearfully asked, “What did she take?”

“Thirteen of our sons. That seemed to satisfy her, and she hasn’t yet returned.”

Percival understood. Having grown up in a poor village suffering from a light draught nearly every year, the shortage of food, hunger, and fear of starving to death was very real. Fathers and mothers worried constantly about their children, and would do anything to ensure their survival—anything, including pleading to Morgana for help, and selling their eternal service in the process. It was clear that this man hadn’t wanted Bard to meddle with Morgana, she was a fierce, powerful, and dangerous foe and an even worse ally. One could trust their enemies to wreak havoc, but couldn’t trust their allies to not betray them. This man, standing in front of them, was scared—scared that Morgana would be back and would want to take more of their children away as soldiers.

“Fear no more. Morgana is gone,” he watched Merlin out of the corner of his eye, curious of the younger man’s reaction to his upcoming words, “A powerful sorcerer, an ally and defender of our king, struck her down, and she is dead.”

Sure enough, Merlin smiled, shyly. Percival knew, after all the years of hiding not getting the credit he deserved, Merlin would greatly enjoy any sort of credit for all he’s done, even if that’s not why he did them.

Relief evidently passed through the scarred man, his body relaxing of his tense state immediately. “That’s wonderful news! Come, let’s talk more indoors.”

His home was small, but it had plenty of room. A long, wooden table stretched from wall to wall horizontally to the left of the door, many chairs of the same make were scooted underneath. A woman stood with her back to them near the far wall, knife in hand, slicing what looked to be chicken. The wall to their right was hidden by a curtain that showed nothing of what lied behind, and Percival assumed the bed and personal room were what was being hidden.

“Myrna, we have guests. Could you prepare extra for supper?”

The woman turned around (“Oh!”), surprise morphing into joy as a smile brightened her face. “Hello! I am Myrna, Edgar’s wife.”

“—Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself, as well. I am Edgar. My brother Edward was the man who beseeched your king.”

Galahad was the first to speak, “I am Galahad, hunter and tracker. This is Sir Percival, knight of the round table, and this is Merlin, the court physician’s apprentice. We hope we have not intruded.”

“Oh, not at all. Company is always welcome. You gentlemen can take a seat at the table, discuss what you need to discuss, and I shall prepare more chicken.”

Myrna gathered a rag, knife, and bucket, and swept from the house.

Edgar motioned toward the table, and each man sat.

“I have plenty of room to spare here, if you’d like to stay together for the night. I know knights and commoners normally do not share—“

Galahad interrupted, “That’d be great, thank you. We no longer consider ourselves more worthy than others, commoners, servants, or otherwise. We are all equals.”

Edgar leaned back in his chair and smiled, “All right. Would you like to discuss what exactly you will be doing—that is to say, would you like any of us to help you, or—or to lend you our services?”

Since it was Galahad who was in charge of the retrieval of the missing children, Percival and Merlin remained silent. Galahad looked at each of them in turn before speaking.

“Well, each of us has a different specified purpose for being here. I, being the tracker and hunter, will be finding your children. The king gave me no time frame, so I am to stay as long as I can be of help. I do not intend to take command over the work you’ve already done—I am not skilled in _leading_ —but I can give you advice and use my skills as knight to defend, if it comes to that. I just want to help as best as I can.”

Edgar leaned forward onto the table and clasped his hands together, thinking. After a moment, he looked up into Galahad’s eyes, “Thank you, Sir. Tomorrow morning, just after dawn, I’ll show you to the search party that’s already being set up. They’re still adolescents, so your skills will be greatly appreciated.”

Galahad nodded, and Edgar turned to Merlin, saying, “What purpose are you then here for, if not to find the children?”

“Camelot’s physician wishes to take on more apprentices, and he sent me to try to find some.”

“We are not a very large group of people, so I don’t believe you’ll have much luck with that. However, I’ll take you to meet Laudine. She’s not a physician, but she’s the best we have.”

“Thank you.”

It was Percival’s turn. He wondered how his request would go over. _Hello, I am here to take your boys to Camelot for our army. Where did the rest go? Oh, Morgana already took them for_ her _army?_ He didn’t think it sounded well in his head. But the situations were totally different. Morgana kidnapped unwilling participants for herself and forced them to fight. He just wanted to know if anybody wanted to.

…but how to say it…

“Three weeks ago, King Arthur heard of Morgana’s army marching toward Camelot. To defend her and her people, he rode out with his whole host to meet her at the plains of Camlann. There, many good men and knights were slaughtered. Now, Camelot’s defenses are weak, and I have been sent to ask for wiling volunteers as recruits to join the knights of Camelot.”

There was silence, palpable silence, as Percival waited the man’s response. Nervous about it, he added, “I do not wish to kidnap or steal any unwilling. If none desire to go, I shall leave it at that.”

That brought a pleased reaction from their host, the man slumping back in his chair, relieved.

“You are free then to talk to any man you’d like, though I’d like to ask that you leave the younger boys out of it.”

“Of course. King Arthur does have standards.”

—

The next morning began with the annoying crowing of the roosters, which sounded as if they were right outside the door (they probably were).

Last night, after they had eaten, exhaustion had quickly settled deep in their bones, but they hadn’t gone to bed. Their hosts were true to their word and loved having company, remaining awake well into the night, talking to them about random things, sharing stories about the escapades of the children, or the horrors of losing many to food shortage due to the heavy tax years ago (and also mentioning the fact that Myrna was pregnant). The man who had taken their horses before had brought their packs, but hadn’t stayed long, excusing himself by saying that he had other chores that still needed to be done. The moon was at its peak in the cloudless sky by the time Merlin had fallen asleep at the table, and Myrna brought them spare blankets for the night, retreating thereafter with Edgar behind their curtain. 

Percival had been the one to set out a quilt for Merlin and had gently maneuvered the servant down onto it without waking him.

Myrna was by the fire cooking breakfast when Percival sat up. Galahad still slept on his pallet near the wall; Merlin and his pallet were both gone, but after Percival had cleaned up his sleeping space, the boy had returned with a pail of water, waking Galahad as he tripped over air and emptied the entire bucket on the sleeping knight. 

Apologizing profusely (Percival thinks Merlin was probably trying to impress the knight; maybe then Galahad won’t hate him when the secret of his warlock-ness is revealed) and with Galahad repeating “It’s all right, it’s all right, just an accident”, the servant grabbed the mop from the corner and Galahad left to hang the blankets out to dry. 

As soon as the door shut behind the knight, Merlin turned to Percival, arching an eyebrow and nodding his head toward the watery puddle. It was clear enough what he was asking _,_ but did Percival have a problem with it?

Having been raised outside of Camelot, where magic wasn’t illegal, Percival hadn’t grown up with the prejudice and hatred as Arthur and other Camelot citizens had. His village was small, and there hadn’t been anyone that practiced, but that didn’t mean the people were against it—he knew that if a sorcerer had passed through, some of his neighbors would have requested some magical help against the taxers and food shortage; he himself might have done so, if it would mean his family lived.

But no sorcerer had ever passed through, and Percival had grown up seeing very little magic. Now, Merlin was offering to do a trick. And the knight was so very curious—people (other knights, citizens, peasants, etc.) have told him that one could identify a sorcerer by the eyes, that the eyes glowed golden when magic was being practiced. Percival wanted to see it. 

But, it was against the law—however, the king himself had said that Merlin was the exception—there had been a condition, though, that Merlin keep his magic low-key and didn’t use it often. So, would this situation be fine?

Percival didn’t have a problem with it (too curious)—would Myrna?

She wasn’t watching though, having returned to frying the eggs after making sure the had everything they needed to clean, so Merlin just slightly tilted his head toward the water. The knight watched as the water evaporated before their eyes, then the sorcerer looked back at Percival, smiling in a _see how useful magic is_ sort of way, and the larger man returned his smile. 

Yes, that was amazing! 

Merlin’s eyes, once dark blue had turned bright gold for just a second, and that large puddle (it _had_ been the entire bucket, almost) had just _evaporated._

He wanted to see it again.

But, the king had said that Merlin wasn’t allowed to…

He broke the quiet, so Myrna wouldn’t be suspicious of the strange silence between the Camelot men, “That wasn’t much at all.” He only said it so that the woman wouldn’t be suspicious of the sudden disappearance of the large amount of water. 

Even though Merlin cleaned most of the water from the floor, Percival was sure Galahad’s clothing absorbed the brunt of it.

Merlin scooped up the empty bucket, “I’ll just go get more.”

Percival stopped him with a hand on his arm, lightly grasping the edge of the bucket as well. Looking deep into Merlin’s eyes so he’d understand, he said, “There’s no need. There’s still plenty of water left.” Then he winked and looked back down into the _empty_ bucket (he was just too curious, and he wanted to see it again). Merlin caught on immediately, beamed up at Percival, his eyes flashed gold, and he observed, “Oh, yeah, I just missed it. There’s still plenty left.”

Galahad came back in, and Percival was glad to see that he wasn’t dripping, leaving no water behind as footprints. He noticed the lack of water on the floor and commented, “That was fast.”

Merlin replied instantly, “I hadn’t actually dumped much.” He showed the tracker the nearly full bucket, only for Galahad to say, “My clothing begs to differ.”

Merlin dug through his bags, withdrawing some folded clothing, “Sorry about that. Here, you can change into mine.”

Galahad, being such a forgiving man (which Percival greatly admired and liked about him), just turned the offer down, “It’s all right Merlin, I brought spares, too.”

Myrna turned and addressed them, setting several plates out on the table, “You can change behind our curtain if you’d like. Edgar is out, tending to the crops. He’ll return soon.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

She scooped some of the eggs on each plate and produced (from seemingly nowhere, Percival hadn’t been paying attention) a biscuit for each. She dipped each goblet in Merlin’s water, and sat down. Galahad emerged just as Edgar came back, and each took a seat around the table and began eating, complimenting the cook in turn (and complimenting the freshness of the well) and engaging in idle chatter.

When breakfast was over and the things cleaned up (Edgar refused to let his wife do all the cleaning and labor in that regards, and everyone else joined in, too), their host led them outside, taking them to the people they most needed to speak to. 

They came upon Laudine first, and Merlin turned aside to speak with her, while the others continued on their way. 

Edgar, Percival had found out last night, wasn’t the leader of the village; in fact, no one was. Engard didn’t have a leader. The men of the village just stepped up to face the challenges that arose, volunteering their services if that meant that their families were safe. This settlement was filled with hospitable, kind, and agreeable people that took care of each other regardless of relation. 

So, yesterday evening, Edgar and his two companions had approached them simply because they were the first to notice them.

Meaning, Percival didn’t have a one specific person that he needed to talk to about recruits; he just had to go about the place, approaching the men who are out and about, and discuss from there. In order to not seem uninterested or uncaring, he couldn’t just go up and ask, “Hello, would you like to join us as knights of Camelot?” No, he had to find common ground, get the men to like him so they would be less biased in their decision. He had to eliminate the fact that a total stranger was asking them to give their lives for a completely different kingdom.

Walking through the streets (Edgar took Galahad to meet up with the search group), the knight observed the villagers and considered his approach. 

These people were primarily farmers. They dealt with crops and livestock, not mining, selling, or sewing (though there were some who sewed, Edward has said as much when he spoke to Arthur), and it seemed that gold or silver had very little impact. So, the monetary profits one would receive as a knight would be a weak incentive to join the ranks. 

Most of the homes housed families, most of which included at least one child, so Percival figured that boring of one’s surroundings and wanting to get away wouldn’t be a very large incentive, either. Perhaps to the younger boys, the adolescents, but not the men.

He ceased his wandering and leaned against a fence, absently watching the chickens cluck and peck at the seed on the ground, but he wasn’t really seeing. So engrossed in his thoughts was he that he hadn’t seen the man come up behind him until he was leaning against the fence by the knight’s side.

“Just passing through?”

Percival swiveled his head, regarding the man. He set a bucket by his foot, full of seed, and his right hand wore a thick black glove—his left bare to the elements. He liked this man, almost instantly: he reminded the knight of his father, and he himself had once tended to the chickens.

He shook his head, “No, I’ve been sent by King Arthur of Camelot. My companion is meeting with your search party, trying to help find the missing children.”

“I see. That’s great news!” He paused, briefly, “But why are _you_ here?”

Percival didn’t answer, didn’t want to dissuade the man or anger him in any way. Instead, he asked a question in return, “Have you lived here your whole life?”

The man didn’t seem perturbed about his question going unanswered, “Yes, though that doesn’t seem like a good reason to have come all the way from Camelot—just to ask a strange villager about his childhood.”

“No, I was just wondering.”

Maybe, if this man had just moved here, or had been somewhere else previously, he’d be more likely to go to Camelot. But also, Percival had remained in the same village his entire life, before the attack. He missed it. And forming a bond like this over nostalgic things was what he was good at. Take Gwaine for example. He and Percival were so close because they understand each other, had had some reason to flee their birthplace based upon awful memories. 

“Mhmm. Why?”

The knight still didn’t answer the question, didn’t _want_ to answer the question, “Do you enjoy living here?”

“Yes, very much. I have a wife and three children. I am a hard-working man and take great pride in all that I do.”

Percival had been like that, too, before, well, except for the wife and children part.

“I used to live in a small village, here in Escetir.” 

“Did you not enjoy it?”

“Cenred destroyed the entire village. Killed my family.”

Yes. That was how he might win this man over to his side. Instill in him a sense of dread for the future, a sense of hatred for their king (even though Cenred has been long dead, Lot was really no different, and, really, the man had a right to fear the future with the evil king. This village wasn’t poor, and Escetir has always been one of the less-wealthy kingdoms). He might feel inclined to defend it, might feel inclined to serve in Camelot’s army for a few years, training to defend this village once he came back.

“I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t do anything, there were too many men.”

“Why did he do it?”

Percival shook his head, “He was running short on gold, I suppose. He didn’t exactly say. Just plundered and took everything.”

The man was silent.

Percival didn’t particularly enjoy telling this man the story of his life, but neither was he against it. It had happened, and there’s nothing he or anyone could do to change it. Even Merlin, as powerful a sorcerer as he was, couldn’t do a thing about it. 

“So, you joined Camelot so that you could fight Escetir. You hate this realm.”

“I hate the cruelty of the unjust and merciless king who rules this realm.” He paused, but continued when the man said nothing, “But I didn’t immediately go to Camelot. I fled to the woods, met a good man, and he showed me another village in Escetir that I could make my home.”

“Why, then did you join Camelot?”

“Because Arthur was a good man, and I desired to prevent Lot from ever doing anything like what Cenred did to me.”

A bit of anger seeped into his voice, but that was all right. The man seemed to sympathize, “I know some people like that, who have been hurt by someone and want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else. Most of the people here have been hurt like that… I know why you’re here, now.”

The man paused, and Percival turned his head to face him, curious of this man’s conclusions.

“You’re not here to help with the children, so then, you must be here because of Morgana. You know what she’s done, and you’ve come to help prevent it.”

That was… not what Percival expected, but it had some truth to it. It’s true that he’s there because of what Morgana had done, but not in regard to the children. And, in some way, he had come to help prevent it—by recruiting knights, and teaching them to fight.

“That isn’t exactly right.”

The man laughed, still light in spirits, “I figured as such. What’s the answer then?”

“Because Morgana defeated many of Camelot’s knights, and the kingdom is nigh on defenseless.”

There it is. There’s the truth. Percival watched the man closely for his reaction.

He just nodded and smiled, in a sad sort of way, the expression on his face seeming to say _oh yes, of course, I should have known._ He replied, “You want some of us to fight for and protect Camelot.”

“King Arthur cannot explicitly defend Engard, but he can teach you to defend yourselves.”

Another smile. “I see, now. You sound sincere (“I am.”), but how do I know that your king can teach us to defend ourselves against a powerful high sorceress? How do I know your king will let us return once we have acquired the knowledge we have sought?”

The reply slipped instantly from his lips, without even thinking about his words before hand, “Because he is a good and just man, marrying a servant girl simply _because he loved her_ , because he _knighted_ lowly commoners, foreigners not belonging to his kingdom, when they rose up to defend him—and they did that because, even as royalty, he saw their lives no less worthy of life than his own. The king did not and has never seen himself worthy of the crown he has inherited, but stepping up only because his people supported him. He has sought council from servants, from commoners, unprejudiced in his decisions, wanting nothing for himself, only desiring the happiness and welfare of his kingdom. He may not give explicit command to return, but one only needs simply to ask, and he will grant it. As he has said before, ‘I will not take away the people’s freedom.’”

They lapsed into silence, his companion turning back to watch the hens and think about what the knight just told him. Percival could see, in the man’s eyes before he turned away, that he had believed the words spoken, accepted them for truth, and was going over them in his head, forming his opinion of Arthur, and Percival wanted to do more, say more, to make sure that opinion is positive, but he held his peace. He’s done what he can; any more talk would over-do it.

At that very moment, Percival wasn’t trying to recruit or persuade the man to do anything, he was trying to erase whatever image of Arthur had formed before Percival laid bare the truth and replace it with the great king he knew Arthur was. He was trying to change the man’s opinion.

A hen came near, pecked at the fencing where the two men stood, and clucked angrily (if chickens _could_ cluck angrily). The man reached down to the bucket by his foot, withdrew a handful of seed, and tossed it into the pen, all the other hens increasing their clucking and squawked over the new food.

Finally, the man chuckled, “You know, I think I like your king, if he is as you say.”

Percival reassured him, “He is.”

“Personally, protecting the innocent by fighting for him is not a strong enough desire for me to leave my life here. I am getting old, my skin is starting to sag, and my bones are beginning to ache. I would be a useless knight.”

Before the larger man could say anything in reply, his companion continued, “However, I think I know of some people who would.”

Percival smiled his thanks.

“Come with me.”

—

The first person the knight’s new friend (he should really ask for his name) showed him to was young, with short, Merlin-style brown hair, but of tall and stocky build.

“This is Erec. Talk to him. He’ll listen.” And he just walked away.

Erec had been pulling weeds from his cucumber garden when the two men approached and had turned and stood when the other man introduced him, leaving the two strangers alone.

Erec held up his hand in a paralyzed wave, “Hi, I’m Erec.”

Percival nodded, smiling, “Percival.”

There was a few seconds of awkward silence, Erec looking at the knight curiously, and Percival watching, not knowing what to do before he spoke, “How do you feel about becoming a knight of Camelot?” Blunt. Probably not the best tactic—hadn’t he just convinced himself that being blunt was the _wrong_ way to go?

Erec squinted at Percival, as if trying to read his mind, figure out what he was thinking to see if it was a trick or something. But he eventually answered, “If you’re being serious, why would I want to be a knight?”

“To protect the people you love, and defend against the ones that want to hurt them.”

“But Engard lies outside Camelot’s borders. What defense could I hope to provide?”

“Your own defense. You don’t have to be gone long. Stay as long as you like, and leave whenever you’d like. Come home to work with your family, and bring back knowledge and skills to fight against those who oppress the village.”

“I have no family. I have no one I care about.”

“We both know that’s not true. You wouldn’t be here, tending to a garden if you cared for no one.”

The boy regarded him cooly, lifting his chin a bit, but replied quickly, “All right, I’ll do it.”

Percival smiled. That was rather fast.

“What’s the salary? I’ll need to pay someone to tend to my garden and clean my house.”

“Enough for that and more.”

—

After that, the boy had gone to speak to some other people, some to persuade to come with him, others to say goodbye to, and one to ask her hand in marriage. After all, he’d have money and experience when he came back, plenty to get a family started.

Merlin had met him shortly after his talk with Erec, informing the knight that his job in this village was over—there weren’t enough people that knew anything about the healing arts to begin with, and then from that number, no one had wanted to leave for Camelot. No worries, though. Gaius had told the servant before he had left that there probably wouldn’t be many in Engard anyway—the physician having travelled there twice before, once for an illness outbreak, and once to take shelter with Hunith after she gave birth (she hadn’t wanted all the other people of Ealdor to know, seeing that she was unwed, and her baby’s father was long gone).

The two then walked around a bit, talking about nothing in general (but Percival had asked a couple questions about Merlin and his magic), before they came to the edge of the settlement, and Percival spotted the broken swing he had sworn to himself to repair. There were no children around, probably still doing chores at their homes (it was only just before noon), so Merlin sat and swung while his friend scrutinized the swing. The problem was the snapped rope, and looking up, Percival could see the other frayed end dangling from the branch high above. 

_How was he going to fix that?_

He hadn’t considered the “how”s before, but now he found that to be a problem. 

Sighing, he stood up straight with the broken rope in one hand, and looked up at the end hanging from the tree. Even though he was taller than all the other knights, he still couldn’t reach the bit above, broken off only a short distance from the branch. No luck, whatsoever.

“I can mend it.” Merlin’s voice rang through the silence on the edge of the woods. 

Percival came to realize, the more he saw Merlin use magic, the more fascinated he became and the more he loved it (a voice in the back of his mind whispered, _But Arthur said no_ and he ignored it)

“Sure.” He replied.

Merlin hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything except look from one broken end to the other, and the rope in Percival’s hand shot out, rising upwards and mending to it’s other self, becoming whole again. 

The knight gently sat on it, hesitantly, hoping it wouldn’t give out and leave him sprawled on the ground. It didn’t. His relief was visible, cause Merlin spoke, “I strengthened it so it wouldn’t break again. I doubt it could even be cut.”

“Thanks.”

“You have no problem with magic.” It sounded more like a statement than a question, and like the servant had been thinking about that for a while.

“I wasn’t taught to hate it. I think it’s helpful and wonderful to behold.”

Merlin smiled, and continued to swing. Percival did the same. There they remained for some time.

—

Erec approached, later, three others following, each desiring to join Camelot as knights. Percival had left Merlin swinging alone to meet them half way and talk, happy that he had been able to succeed in his mission. Discussing the cause and issue and details with the men, the knight had accidentally turned one away, upset that, no, the king was not going to send an army to personally defend their village from King Lot’s taxers, nor was he going to fight for their freedom, embracing them as his own and extending his borders. In the end, the number of recruits was fewer than Arthur would probably have hoped for, but more than Percival originally anticipated. 

While answering their questions, telling them about the different duties of knights, the many different people that ran to and fro around the castle, and that the servants of the royal household didn’t _actually_ have to do what common (low-ranking, actually, but Percival hadn’t wanted to say that out loud) knights told them (the higher ranked a knight you were, the more worthy your word was in court, the more the servants would listen to you), so _do not abuse your power_ , he had gestured down to Merlin, still swinging absent-mindedly, saying that no one had command over that servant except for the King himself (and, of course, also the queen).

Merlin had noticed (well, secretly, he had been using magic to eavesdrop, knowing Percival wouldn’t mind) and swiftly joined them, only for the conversation to take a tangent when the youngest new recruit exclaimed, “You fixed the swing!”

All eyes turned toward the swings, and looks of astonishment overslept their faces. 

Percival and Merlin looked at each other, thinking the exact same thing, _I hope they don’t suspect magic_ (since that kind of break would have been nigh on impossible to fix otherwise) _._

But suspicion was overlooked and the swings forgotten as Galahad approached.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Sir Percival, Merlin, may I have a word?”

The men departed, someone said something about lunch, and Galahad began talking immediately, “The search group is small, only four young adolescents, the only people who could still be spared, so many have gone missing already.”

Percival nodded, sharing his success, also nodding toward the men whose retreating backs could still be seen, “Three men want to join us. I didn’t need Arthur’s pledge, they didn’t seem to have any problem with it.”

Merlin’s turn, and he shook his head, “No luck. I couldn’t take away the only healer here. They need her more than we do.”

“I have taken charge of the search and rescue, the children know next to nothing about tracking or finding. Tomorrow at first light, I intend to take them into the woods to look for tracks, and begin training them from there. His highness said to be gone as long as I am needed, so I will stay for, if it comes to it, several weeks. What will you two do?”

Percival and Merlin looked at each other, thinking.

What would he do? There wasn’t really any question about it—he would stay and help Galahad. With only four people in the search group, he could use all the help he could get.

“I could be of some use to you, so I’ll stay.”

“I’m rubbish at tracking and hunting and wouldn’t be of any use at all. I guess I’ll just head north to Ealdor.”

(Now, Galahad didn’t know it, but Percival did, that Merlin was actually really good at, but he used his magic to do so. With Galahad here, he wouldn’t resort to it, therefore he would actually be pretty useless.)

Oh, yeah. Ealdor. Percival forgot he wanted to visit. Suddenly, he didn’t really want to stay and track. But then, what would he do with the recruits? Surely, they wouldn’t want to travel to a different village for a few days; would they want to go straight to Camelot by themselves? 

Galahad solved it for him, “You could leave your recruits with me and go with Merlin to Ealdor. Then, I could train them a bit, too, and I would have more help. The royal kitchens would greatly benefit from more knights hunting. Do you think the king would have more feasts?”

Percival liked that idea, “Sounds fine to me.” He looked at Merlin, and he nodded, smiling (Merlin would probably love not going hunting with Arthur as often; that, and _the feasts_ ).

A sudden, tangent thought struck him (well, he had been thinking that, last time there was a feast, Gwaine had said that he was so hungry he could eat an entire horse). Erec had a young mare, which he would undoubtedly ride to Camelot on, but the other two recruits had none. Galahad had brought a royal horse as well. Four people will be journeying, but there’ll only be two horses.

“Take our steeds, we’ll go on foot.”

Merlin didn’t miss anything, nodded, “You’ll be tired after searching, and will want to reach Camelot as quick as you can. If everyone had a horse, you’ll be less cumbered and faster.”

Galahad liked that idea, and he smiled to show it.

A moment of silence passed peacefully, before Merlin broke it.

“Have you gotten any clues, yet?”

The tracker shook his head, “No. The only thing these people know is that their children went out to play. Every single one ventured near the edge of the forest, and they haven’t been seen since. In fact, just last night, two children went to swing,” he pointed down at the swings Merlin and Percival had vacated, “and didn’t return home.”

“What?” Merlin was horror-struck, likely because they had been _right there_ last night, right on the edge of the woods near the swings, and had neither seen nor heard anything amiss.

Wait. Percival remembered seeing those children. They were part of his first impression of the little village, swinging and laughing. One had been gripping the rope, swinging; one had been pushing the swing, and the other had been siting in the grass by the broken one. He remembered their laughter as they passed, and remembered the one in the grass looking at him and smiling.

“Two? But, there were three when we arrived.”

Galahad had, apparently, not known this, took a few seconds to register why exactly Percival’s information was important, then immediately turned around and ran back into the village.

 


End file.
